Diary of the Dentally Challenged Damsel

Hey there! If you've stumbled upon this little bloop of information, it's likely due to one of two reasons:

1. You are also dentally challenged and are likely seeking validation of your feelings surrounding said challenges. If this is the case, you've found the right reading material.

2. You are the type of person that has been blessed with good genetics, finances suitable for proper dental care, or maybe even both. With that being said, these "type-two" people also fall into two separate categories:

a. Type 2a, we’ll call them. You’re the type that has perfectly straight and shiny chompers; but you’re still down-to-earth enough to skip the judgement and typically won’t mention that you very obviously notice the flaws in our teeth or question the why. While we do notice the subtle glances towards our mouths, we appreciate the types of people that don’t make a scene out of it.

b. The dreaded 2b-ers. I’ll be very blunt in saying that I absolutely do not like people of your type; but maybe if you can put your judgement aside long enough to finish this, maybe-just maybe-you can find it in your heart (even if I may think it’s a small black hole) to be more sparing when it comes to casting stones at those you know nothing about. If you decide to stop reading because this offended you, then it’s very likely that you’re far beyond any help to become the slightest bit of a decent human. I know this may sound mean and hateful, but I’ve dealt with my fair share of cruel humans, so I’m honestly just over it.

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I feel that we can move on to a little back story. I’m a 25-year-old female in the midwestern part of the United States. I’ve also created two mini-humans over the course of the last eight years, and I’m only telling you because that plays such a huge part in my mess of a story. I’m not proud of it, but I’m a statistic in the sense of being a young, single, and working mom. I don’t receive assistance of any form, which also plays a part in this story. I’m not judging those of you that do, because let’s face it, I’ll be happy for anyone that’s trying to make it in this cruel world to get the help they deserve-whether I’m getting it or not.

My problems began when I was sixteen with my first pregnancy-don’t say I didn’t warn you about being a statistic. This thread is not about teen pregnancy, so don’t even.

My teeth were perfect at the time. My definition of perfect, at least. Only the slightest bit crooked, but otherwise shiny, healthy, and fully functional. About three months into my pregnancy, I noticed a teeny tiny black spot on the gumline of my front, top tooth. I didn’t think much of it as I thought I just had food stuck on my tooth. I carried on with my days moving forward as usual until about a month later. I had totally forgotten about this black spot and was always too busy to really check my teeth out after brushing to remind myself of it. It wasn’t until the tiny ballpoint size spot grew along the entire gumline of that tooth within a single month. At this point, I was simply sick over it. (Not pregnancy related.) You see, my dad’s entire side of the family is ridden with poor dental genes. The hereditary gum disease they so cruelly pass onto future generations causes the teeth to decay from the inside out. Due to the trauma of little five-year-old me seeing my dad’s mouth all bloody and full of rags when he picked me up from school, I took that note to make sure I took care of my teeth to avoid ending up in the same situation. Little did I know, there was nothing I could do to stop the ravaging genetic decay. While there are ways to slow the process in today’s time, these options weren’t available in the days I was growing up and most dentists didn’t even investigate true periodontal disease. They always chalked it up to eating too much junk food and drinking something other than water, when that truly wasn’t the case at all.

Moving on. By the fifth month of pregnancy, I had already dealt with numerous tooth infections and even had one tooth removed because it was so badly infected. By the time I gave birth, all my top teeth had a good portion of the enamel along the gumline missing and very obviously gray-ish black. Per the dentist I was seeing, my teeth were already dead inside (much like me hahaha) and since they were showing obvious signs of death on the outside, it was too late and there was no saving them.

The lack of a tiny human sucking all the nutrients out of my body, primarily calcium, the decay did slow over the next two years I had to suffer with my teeth the way they were. I refused to go along with the idea that there was no saving them, so I spent countless hours and dollars going to various dentists within a 150-mile radius of my hometown to find someone that could fix them. Instead, I think I managed to root out every single horrible dentist in southeast Missouri.

My mental health began to really plummet at this point. I felt like I was doing everything right. I was working over full-time hours along with raising my child and going to college. That wasn’t enough for nearly every dentist to belittle me for the shape my teeth were in and accuse me of being a heavy drug user. While I wasted entirely too much trying to defend myself against something I had, and still haven’t, ever done; it was to no avail. I walked out of every dentist office completely defeated, broken, and ready to honestly be done with everything.

I felt like I wasn’t giving my two-year-old little girl the life she deserved because I was always in so much pain that I didn’t feel like leaving the house or I was too embarrassed to even take pictures with her.

Finally, I caved and put my ego aside to set up a consultation with Dr. Nikodem. He was well-known in my area for dentures; so, I figured he wouldn’t be as judgmental about my condition. To my surprise, I left his office feeling a glimmer of hope for the first time in almost three years. He was the most kind, caring, and least judgmental dentist I had been in contact with in all my years of life. At only 19 years old, exactly six days before my twentieth birthday, I made the leap in getting all my top teeth removed and received an immediate upper denture with my tax return. While this was not at all how I pictured my life being at only 20, it was worth it within three days of having it done. I was finally able to smile, eat, and take pictures with my baby. While the simple fact of having dentures young was, and still is, embarrassing to me; I’m not sure I’d be here today if I Dr. Nikodem hadn’t gotten me “fixed up” as he said it.

Fast forward five years. Another little goblin spent nine months sucking nutrients from me which led to the ultimate demise of my remaining bottom teeth. These have actually been more difficult than my top teeth were. My top teeth were more noticeable, but they didn’t get infected as frequently as my bottom ones do. Five years of this gum disease ravaging below the surface, more dentists refusing the idea that I, in fact, was not a drug user; hence, not offering the fancy new techniques they have to help slow down this gum disease.

To say it very simply, YES I do look like a crackhead, but I’m actually just a mom that’s put my children first instead of taking what little money I have left after bills towards my teeth. You know, because that’s what parents do. We sacrifice.

The last five years have taken the biggest toll on my mental health. This is where I’ll directly call out all you “Type 2b-ers” that I so blatantly dislike.

I’ll begin with the fact that I’ve been at my job for over four years now, so many of the people that I’ve worked with from the beginning have seen the obvious worsening of my teeth over the years. While I’ve been quite blessed with kind and considerate coworkers, there are still those select few that run their mouths, with their pretty teeth, about my situation that they know nothing of. While my next paragraph doesn’t only apply to those shitty coworkers, it also applies to those shitty humans in the grocery store, those shitty judgmental school moms, and even those shitty judgmental people you attempt to talk to/date.

YES. You’re right. My teeth look bad. Do you think I don’t know that? I have to wake up every morning and look in the mirror, only to still feel my stomach drop at the sight of them after five years. Do you honestly think I want my teeth to look like this? That I choose for my teeth to stay like this? Do you think I’m not ashamed of the way they look, even though it’s technically no fault of my own that they ended up this way?

NO. I have sat up many nights full-blown sobbing at the fact that I’ve ran out every possible lead to attempt to get my teeth fixed, and I’m simply stuck. It comes down to the almighty dollar, something that I don’t have a plentiful amount of. Especially when said teeth have to be surgically removed along with a bone graft, with a generously discounted offer of $10,000 USD UP FRONT. Please, tell me where a single mother that’s already barely making ends meet (with a decent paying job, mind you) is going to rack up a quick $10k to so selfishly spend on herself instead of getting those new school clothes the kids need because they outgrew everything, or getting those past due bills paid off to make sure your kids have electric, water, a place to live, and a vehicle to get them to and from where they need to be, or instead of letting them sign up for the extracurricular activities they’ve begged to sign up for, but they always cost too much. Anyone that’s a parent that wasn’t fed with a silver spoon will understand exactly what I mean. I feel guilty even thinking about spending this kind of money on myself when there are things I could put money towards for my kids.

YES. My teeth look bad, but have you thought about how it feels to have them? The physical side. You think these gnarly things don’t cause a world of pain from the second I wake up to the second I go to sleep, and even sometimes they hurt every second in between sleeping and waking up. While you’re making jokes about how bad my teeth look or thinking I’m less of a person because of them; I’m wondering if the next infection is going to kill me. Not even if, but really when.

So yes, please keep laughing about a situation you’re lucky enough to not have to experience. I only hope you don’t laugh at the children that lose a parent over the same condition you thought was hilarious enough to snicker in the background when you thought I couldn’t hear you.

I’ve spent years telling myself that I’ll never be enough until I can get my teeth fixed. That I’m not worth anything because my teeth are an atrocious site to see. That no one, other than my immediate family, could ever love me because of my teeth. I’ve spent years dropping my standards in the aspect of how I allow myself to be treated, because I should feel lucky that anyone is even talking to me, right? I’ve begged any and every God that may or may not be out there to just end it. Let the infection find it’s way into my bloodstream and end all of the suffering, both mental and physical; then allow my children to have the finances with my life insurance to fix the same disease that’s been passed onto them before it’s too late and they end up just like this.

My point is, while some of you are hyper-focused on poking fun at one’s teeth; you NEED to understand that it goes far deeper than appearance for those of us that have to live with this. Having bad teeth isn’t just an “Oh man, I’d look so much prettier with good teeth.” It’s literally fighting to even want to wake up every morning even though you have two such perfect little humans that rely on you doing so. It’s far more mental for us than it is physical.

With all of this being said, I need to wrap it up to tend to said tiny humans. I’m sorry if this wasn’t as motivational as my fellow Type 1 people would have hoped, but just know that you are not alone, and even though I struggle to take my own advice; you are worth it, you are loved, and your physical appearance does not define who you are or what you deserve as a person.

For any Type 2b-ers that made it this far. I’m proud of you. I hope that this had shed some inkling of light on some situations, and I hope that you consciously try to pass less judgement when you never know what someone’s story is or how close to the edge they are.